A Crowded Marriage (25 page)

The next landing looked very plush and private, and I guessed I was entering Piers and Eleanor's own quarters, judging by the family photos dotted around the walls. I was just wondering which of the four white-panelled doors around me would yield a bathroom and my shameless sister, when I heard a shout of pain coming from one of them.

“Hannah?” I tried the handle. It was locked. I rattled it. “Are you in there?”

“Yes!” she gasped back.

I went cold.

“Hannah, are you OK?”

“No, I'm bloody not! Hang on.”

I heard movement within, and then she unlocked the door, hanging heavily on to the handle, before collapsing in a heap on the cream carpet. I flew to her side.

“Oh my God—Hannah, are you all right?”

She was breathing heavily, holding her side. “Appendix,” she gasped. “At least I think that's what it is. It's too bloody painful to be constipation!”

“Appendix! Christ, are you sure?”

“Well, I had something similar about three months ago,” she panted, “and the doctor said it could be rumbling appendicitis—apparently they can rumble on and on for ever. But it's turned into Mount Vesuvius now and—ouch!” She gave a shriek as the pain hit her.

“I'll call an ambulance.” I got up hastily.

“No, not an ambulance, just drive me there, Imo, and get Eddie to help me downstairs. I don't want to make a scene, not here, not—AARRGHHH!!” Her eyes bulged as she shrieked.

“Oh God, I am
so
ringing an ambulance, Hannah! I'll get Eddie up here, but if it's your appendix, you need to get to hospital fast.”

I turned to dash away but she held my arm.

“Painkillers,” she hissed, white-faced, “in the cupboard up there. I've seen them, but couldn't stand up long enough to grab them. Give me a handful.”

With shaking hands I found the packet, punched out a few, got her a glass of water and held it to her lips.

“Thanks,” she muttered swallowing them down. “Not that it'll do much good when it's up against this sort of eruption.”

“Well, it's better than nothing. Now stay there and don't move. I'll be back.”

“I
can't
bloody move.”

“And—here—put this behind your head.” I seized a lacy cushion from a Lloyd Loom chair and shoved it behind her, manoeuvring her so she was propped up against the bath. She looked a bit more comfortable.

“Better?” I said anxiously.

“A bit. I might even be able to make it to that chair.”

“Don't,” I said dangerously. “Just stay there, I'll be back. Oh joy, a phone.”

My eyes had spotted it through an open door into what was clearly the master bedroom—huge, with a four-poster bed and a chaise longue, and all a riot of blue toile de Jouy—on the bedside table. I flew to it. As I punched out 999 I realised I'd never done this before, and was taken aback by the bored tones of the girl who asked me if I wanted fire, police or ambulance. I supposed it might get repetitive if one did it every day.

“Ambulance!” I barked. “And make it snappy. My sister's got a burst appendix!”

God, had it burst? In horror I beetled back down the stairs to get Eddie, because if it had—well, that was bloody serious, actually: blood poisoning, peritonitis…

I ran through the hall and down the passage, pausing a moment to get my bearings. If only this house wasn't so flaming big. Yes, this was the way to the terrace. I flew outside at racing speed, but only Mum and Lady Latimer were there, chatting quietly under a huge parasol. They looked up in surprise as I burst out.

“Where's Eddie?” I gasped, trying to keep the panic from my voice.

Mum took off her sunglasses and frowned at me. “Piers took everyone off to look at his aviary, darling. Rufus wanted to see the lovebirds. Why, what's wrong?”

“I think Hannah may have appendicitis,” I said, as calmly as I could.

“Oh God.” She stood up quickly.

“I've called an ambulance, but, Mum, I need you to get Eddie.”

“I'll show you.” Lady Latimer, suddenly galvanised, was on her feet.

“You know where it is?”

“Well, it used to be
my
aviary, young lady, so I should do!” she said with some force. She strode off with Mum hurrying along beside her, in the direction of the stables.

I ran back inside and made for the staircase again, taking the stairs two at a time. Down the long corridor I flew, past the spare rooms, the children's rooms, on to the next landing, and into the bathroom. I spun around. Empty. No Hannah. No gasping sister slumped on the floor holding her side, berating me for not getting back quickly enough, for taking my time; just acres of cream carpet.

“Hannah!” I yelped, spinning about.

No answer. Shit. Had she tried to stagger somewhere more comfortable? A bedroom perhaps? I'd
told
her not to move!

At that moment a piercing shriek rang out. It was a primeval sound, full of pain, full of fear, and it went right through me, anchoring me to the spot.

“Arghhhhhh!”

I flew in its general direction. It was coming from the master bedroom, the door to which was now shut. I burst through—and a horrific sight met my eyes. My sister was flat on her back on the four-poster bed, dress rucked up, knees bare and bent, legs wide apart—being forced apart—by Pat Flaherty, who loomed over her, pinning her to the bed, his dark eyes glittering as he ripped off her knickers.

“What the hell do you think you're doing!” I thundered from the doorway, fists balled.

“I'm delivering a baby, what does it look like?” he snapped, his back still to me as he threw Hannah's pants on the floor.

“A
baby
!” I nearly fainted with horror. My hands shot out and gripped the doorframe, crucifix style.

“Your sister's in labour. I was in the downstairs loo and heard her shouts from down there—came running upstairs to find her practically giving birth on the bathroom floor. Somehow I managed to get her in here, which was no mean feat, I can tell you.” He paused a moment to step back and assess the situation, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

I stood there, mute with horror. Then: “Oh my God—
Hannah
!”

But Hannah couldn't speak, had neither breath nor vocabulary to draw on, could only stare at me with a mixture of terror and pain, panting hard. Suddenly she threw back her head and howled like a dog. I flew to her side.

“I've called an ambulance,” I gasped, my mind whirring, struggling to comprehend. A
baby
!

“Too late for that,” Pat informed me. “She's fully dilated. Look, she's pushing already.”

“Oh my
God
, she thought she was constipated! Hannah, you're
preg
nant, didn't you know?”

“Of course I didn't bloody—AARGH!!” she shrieked as another contraction gripped her. “I want to push!”

“Well, push, next time that happens,” Pat ordered, his hands—well, his hands somewhere really terribly intimate and personal.

“Do you know what you're doing?” I shrieked, springing from Hannah's side to hover behind him anxiously, wringing my hands. “Have you done this before?”

“I have, as it happens, for complicated reasons, along with countless animal deliveries, but feel free if you think you'd do a better job.” He took his head from between my sister's legs and turned to glare at me, black eyes flashing.

“No!” I shrank away. “No, God, I haven't a clue, but shouldn't we wait? Shouldn't she—you know—cross her legs or something, until the ambulance gets here?”

“What, and cut off the oxygen supply and damage the baby? That's about the most dangerous thing you can do. No, if this baby's coming, it's coming, and there isn't a damn thing you can do about it. Look,” he stood back a moment to let me see, “she's fully dilated and the head's engaged. You can see it crowning.”

I conquered my qualms and crouched down to where…oh…my…
God
! I clapped both hands over my mouth. A dark head
was
crowning—I could see hair! Black hair!

“Oh, Hannah!” I gave an involuntary sob and rushed round to seize her hand. She was blowing hard now, her face livid, eyes popping. “I can see it, it's a baby, a real baby!”

“Well, I certainly hope it's a baby,” said Pat, wiping his mouth on his sleeve and crouching down to take up his position again. “I'd hate to think what else she could have up there. What about getting me some water?”

“Oh! God, yes, water! Hot?”

“Yep, and some towels.”

“Towels!” I yelped, running into the bathroom, glad of something to do. I knew I was on the verge of panicking. “Towels, towels,” I muttered, pulling them from the rail with shaking hands. “Keep calm, keep calm.”

“No, from the cupboard,” he snapped, as I ran in with them trailing on the floor. “They've got to be absolutely clean.”

“Clean towels, clean towels,” I agreed, fleeing back, spinning around the bathroom, then flinging a cupboard door wide. Oh, deep joy—a pile of sage-green towels was stacked neatly on a shelf.

“Hot water from the tap?” I yelled.

“That'll do, in a bowl.”

All I could find was a child's potty. “Best I could do,” I muttered, coming back with it sloshing everywhere.

“Don't be ridiculous, I can't use that. Just get back here and hold her hand.”

“Hold hand, hold hand.”

“AARRAGGGH!” Hannah shrieked as I ran to her side. She gripped my fingers so tight I thought my knuckles would break, and her head was right off the pillow now, eyes squeezed tight with pain and effort, as at that moment, Eddie came in. He stood there in the doorway, mouth open, blinking behind his spectacles.

“What the…?”

“She's having a baby!” I screamed. “She's giving birth!”

Befuddled and mystified beyond belief, Eddie staggered in a few more steps. He took in his wife's condition, looking her up and down in naked disbelief.

“She can't be,” he whispered.

“I bloody am!” hollered Hannah, her face bright red and contorted with pain. “Look at me! I'm not doing this for attention!”

“Oh my God. Oh…my…
God
!” Eddie's face went through a myriad of emotions in the space of seconds: horror, disbelief, incredulity were all etched up there—then he settled on wonder. He came in unsteadily and sank down beside her, seizing her hand.

“Oh, darling. Oh, my darling. But…but how?” His eyes were wide, uncomprehending. “How did it happen?”

“Well, I'm pretty sure you had something to do with it!” she shrieked.

“Oh, my precious. My angel!” He put her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers fiercely. “Does it hurt?”

“Does it—” She attempted to treat this enquiry with the contempt it deserved but was thwarted by another contraction. “AARGH! SHIT! CHRIST!”

“Push,” instructed Pat, crouching down at the sharp end again. “Go on, go with it this time.”

“Yes, and breathe,” enjoined Eddie eagerly, bending over her and urging her on. “You must breathe, I've read that, and you must relax, not tense up, and—”

“AND YOU CAN FUCK OFF!” she screeched, lashing out in fury with her fist, and catching Eddie, with her sizeable diamond engagement ring, squarely on the temple. His eyes bulged for a moment, pale and blue, his face lost all of its colour. Then, as blood spurted from his head, he staggered backwards, lost consciousness, and collapsed on the floor.

“Christ! Eddie!” I leaped back in panic. “Pat, she's knocked him out!”

“Bugger.”

Pat hesitated, torn between the two of them, then hastened round to put Eddie in the recovery position.

“Nice timing, mate,” he muttered, throwing Eddie's arm over his chest and slapping his face. “Nasty cut you've got there. Oi, Nurse, put a towel on it.” He threw one at me. “Staunch the flow.”

“Oh God—is he still breathing?” I crouched over him, putting my ear to his heart. “I can't hear him breathing! Is he dead?”

“Of course he's not dead. His chest is moving. Just keep the towel there.”

“WHAT…ABOUT…ME?” roared my sister murderously, rising massively on her elbows from the bed, like a sea monster from the depths, as, at that moment, the door flew open. Piers and his mother stood there in the doorway, bugeyed with amazement as they took in the scene.

“What the…?” began Piers, inadequately.

“Hannah's having a baby and she's knocked her husband out for being oversolicitous,” Pat explained patiently, hastening away from Eddie to resume his position between Hannah's knees. “Now unless you're going to make yourselves useful, I suggest you disappear. She doesn't want an audience, and if there are any unhelpful comments, she'll probably knock you out as well. Yes, that's
it
,” he encouraged suddenly. “Good girl, it's coming!”

“Good grief!” Piers yelped, as at that moment, like something out of a French farce, another door opened, this one in the far corner of the room, which appeared to lead to a dark green dressing room. Alex and Eleanor stood there, gaping with amazement.

Alex's jaw dropped as he regarded his sister-in-law on the bed. “Bleeding Ada!” he gasped. In times of real crisis my husband reverted right back to prep school. “She's having a baby!” He gaped in astonishment, then turned on me, horrified. “Imogen!”

“Well, it wasn't my fault!” I squeaked. “I didn't impregnate her. Blame Eddie! Actually, don't, Hannah's already done that. Oh, Hannah, it's coming, it's coming!” I sobbed, fists clenched, torn between seeing it come out and holding her hand.

“But shouldn't she be in hospital?” blabbered Piers. “The bedcover…this is the Tudor Room!”

“Oh, for God's sake, Piers, it's too late for that. Can't you see it's coming?” snapped Eleanor, hastening to Hannah's other side.

It was. As Hannah bore down with one final, mighty, primeval moan that seemed to come from a long way away, from way back in time, and gave a last, vein-busting push, suddenly the whole head appeared, bright red and covered in black hair, swiftly followed by a slippery little body, slimy like a seal, covered in mucus.

“Oh!” we all gasped as Pat caught it expertly in his hands. There was a moment of complete silence, then:

“It's a boy,” he said, gazing down at it in wonder.

In the gasps of shock and amazement that followed, Pat somehow managed to cut the cord, clean the baby up a bit, wrap him in a towel, move around the bed, and hand him carefully, tenderly, to his mother.

Hannah, her hair soaking wet and plastered to her head, struggled to raise herself on to her elbows, to sit up and take the baby in her arms. As I flew to help her, propping her up with pillows, she gazed down in disbelief.

“A boy,” she breathed. “I've got a baby boy.”

Tears fled down my cheeks as I looked into her astonished face.

“Oh, Hannah!” I gasped.

In another moment, we heard footsteps pounding up the stairs.

My mother's voice rang out, “Up here—she's up here somewhere. Quick!”

At the double, the ambulance crew arrived, bursting into the room in their plastic yellow jackets, complete with stretcher and equipment, followed by my mother. They stopped, stood stock-still for a moment as they took in the scene: the mother and baby on the bed like a modern-day nativity scene; the unconscious man beside her, bleeding into a towel like the passion of Christ; the assembled multitude. The first ambulance man gaped around the room bemused. He took off his cap and scratched his head.

“Which one's got the burst appendix, then?”

***

Later, much later, as I said to Mum that evening, in the hospital cafeteria, it was ironic that in the end it was Eddie who needed the stretcher to the ambulance. Hannah was one the one who had walked down the stairs—slightly hypnotically perhaps—with her baby in her arms, past Dad and Dawn standing wide-eyed and bereft of speech in the hall, past Rufus and Theo, who paused in their game of marbles on the front steps, past Vera raking leaves in the drive, across the gravel sweep and into the waiting ambulance. Eddie told me later that as they'd driven off and were en route to the hospital, he'd come round, and was deemed well enough by the ambulance crew to sit up and hold the baby. Thus, this brand-new family trundled off to Milton Keynes General with stars in their eyes and wonder in their hearts, Mum and I following on behind in the car.

“But why didn't she know?” Mum insisted as she drank the second strong black coffee I'd ordered for her to bring her out of her shock. “I can't believe she didn't
know
she was pregnant.”

“But, Mum, she'd been told she couldn't
have
babies; told it was almost a physical impossibility, given her sticky tubes and Eddie's dodgy sperm. It wouldn't have occurred to her that she was.”

“Yes, but she'd have missed a period!” she squeaked. I glanced nervously round the room as a few people looked across. Mum's cup rattled forcefully in its saucer as she put it down. “Several!” she hissed.

I leaned forward. “Mum, Hannah thought she was getting the menopause.”

She sat back. Regarded me in horror. “Did she?”

“Yes, because apparently you got yours early, so when her periods stopped, she just thought, oh well, this is it then. Early menopause, on top of everything else—terrific. And of course she was getting mood swings—”

“All those pregnancy hormones—”

“Exactly, and feeling tired and flushed—”

“Or blooming, I suppose—”

“Well, quite. And I suppose…” I hesitated, feeling disloyal, “well, if you've always been as big as she was…”

“What's a bit more on the tummy? And let's face it, she was getting huge, but—oh God, it just didn't
occur
to me.” She looked distressed. “I blame myself.”

“Don't,” I said, putting my hand over hers.

“It could have been so dangerous. She could have been on a bus or something…”

“Hannah doesn't go on buses, and the point is, Mum, she was fine.
Is
fine. She's had a baby, which is what she's always wanted. It's a dream come true for her and Eddie.”

“Yes.” Her face softened as she looked at me. “Yes, it is, isn't it? And thank God for that marvellous man. What was his name?”

“Pat,” I said shortly, sinking into my coffee.

“Pat. He was so capable, so level-headed. More help than those ambulance men, who seemed to want to bundle her off immediately and not clean her up. Did you see how he dealt with everything?”

“Yes, well, he's a vet, Mum. It sort of goes with the territory.”

“Hardly,” she snorted. “He's used to sheep and cows. No, I thought he was absolutely fantastic. And as for Piers—did you see his face? I thought he was going to pass out! Thought we'd have him carted away on a stretcher too!”

“Yes, well, I don't suppose we'll be invited back next Saturday for a barbie,” I said wryly. “Can you imagine—oh, Piers, we'd love to come, but would you mind if another member of my family gave birth between the main course and pudding? Be surprised if he lets us stay on at the cottage,” I said gloomily.